


hey baby, I think I wanna marry you

by fuckitfireeverything



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Danny being drunk and Stiles being a dork, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 10:46:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckitfireeverything/pseuds/fuckitfireeverything
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Well, what about you and Danny?" James-Jim-John asks, glancing down the table to where Danny is laughing over something with Lydia. </p><p>"Me and Danny?" he asks, confused.</p><p>"Yeah, when are you two tying the knot?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	hey baby, I think I wanna marry you

**Author's Note:**

> well everyone's got to write a fluffy wedding fic once, right?

Stiles doesn't so much get drunk at Scott and Allison's wedding as he gets decidedly, pleasantly buzzed. Needless to say that between the champagne for his toast to the happy couple, the jack and coke he drank before the ceremony to calm his nerves, and the various drinks people keep happily shoving in his hand during the reception which he feels obligated to finish, he feels pretty good.

"I love weddings," he says to one of Scott's co-workers from the hospital whose name is apparently escaping him at the moment, but whose name he really should know seeing as he's in the wedding party too, Stiles knows that much because he's sitting at the table where the wedding party's supposed to be sitting and there's probably a place card with his name on it in front of him but Stiles knows it'll look suspicious if he tries to find it and read it now. He's got sweat stains in the armpits of his tuxedo shirt and is leaning across the table to hear Stiles over the music, just drunk enough to actually care what Stiles is saying.

"I'm serious," Stiles continues. "Look how much fun this is, everyone's having so much fun. I love weddings, they're the greatest. Why don't people have them more often?"

The guy -- James? Stiles thinks to himself, wracking his brain. Jim? John? -- laughs, knocking back the rest of his drink and says, "I know, right? If I had a girl who'd want to marry me I'd have like six weddings."

"Yeah!" Stiles agrees, enthusiastically. James-Jim-John, whatever his name actually is, gets him, man.

"Well, what about you and Danny?" James-Jim-John asks, glancing down the table to where Danny is laughing over something with Lydia. Stiles watches as she pulls out her phone and snaps a picture of the two of them, the tips of Danny's ears starting to turn just a little pink like they always do when he's been drinking.

"Me and Danny?" he asks, confused.

"Yeah, when are you two tying the knot?"

It's a reasonable question -- Stiles and Danny have been together almost as long as Scott and Allison have. Longer than Scott and Allison have, actually, if you count it from the last time Scott and Allison got back together after one of their dramatic and ineffective break ups. It's a reasonable question to ask of any couple who has been together since senior year of high school, especially one that's been together through anything as dramatic as werewolves, poltergeists, vampires, witches, and one very, very angry yeti before even making it to college.

And it isn't like Stiles hasn't thought about it before. It has. He can't count the number of times he's woken up in the middle of the night with Danny's head heavy on his chest, Danny's fingers curled around his arm, Danny's breath warm on his bare skin, and thought to himself, yeah, I could do this forever.

"Well," Stiles answers, "I was thinking about maybe next Sunday."

James-Jim-John raises an eyebrow at him; even he's sober enough to tell it's not really a normal answer. But Stiles has always liked Sundays. He and Danny always sleep in on Sundays and get powdered donuts from the bakery on the corner for brunch and relax around the house all day. Sundays have the kind of quality that makes Stiles' chest feel bigger and and muscles feel looser and Sundays really just seem like a good day to get married.

"Next Sunday?" James-Jim-John says, and Stiles smiles and answers, "Yeah. I like Sundays."

"Hey Danny!" he calls down the table, and Danny looks up at him, his smile widening when he sees Stiles, and Stiles can tell Danny's probably been drinking more than he has from the look of him. His tie, which Stiles had had to tie for him three separate times before the ceremony, is draped untied around his neck again; his shirt is unbuttoned and his sleeves are rolled up and his jacket is long gone. "How would you feel about getting married next Sunday?"

For a second, Danny's ears go from pink to bright red, and then his smile turns to full-out beaming, his dimples coming out and making Stiles' whole body tingle the way they always still do. Lydia arches her eyebrows in surprise, looking at Danny like she's trying to telepathically ask him what the hell is wrong with his boyfriend, but Danny isn't looking at her anymore.

Danny gives him an enthusiastic double thumbs up, and calls back, "Awesome. A+. Sounds like a plan," before the rest of his face turns as red as his ears and he turns back to Lydia, burying his face in his hands and straight up _giggling._

If anything, the lack of a conventional proposal is worth it for how damn charmed Stiles is by his boyfriend -- no, his _fiancé_ \-- right now.

  


"Scott," Stiles says, tugging at the sleeve of Scott's dress shirt as he catches up with him. "Scott, Scott, Scott."

Scott is so happy the entire reception that Stiles would have described him to anyone as literally glowing if Stiles hadn't seen Scott literally glowing for several days straight a few years before, thanks to the interference of some pesky faeries with a vendetta and a penchant for permanent stick skin glitter. He turns his attention away from Allison's eleven year old second cousin (Melinda or Melissa or Marissa) and the white cake icing all over her face, to Stiles with a bright smile, and Stiles has only seen Scott this happy a handful of times, ninety percent of them to do with Allison.

"What's up, man? Having fun?"

"Tons," Stiles says. "Like, all the fun," and then he sets his face, determined, because he's got important business to attend to. "Look, what are you doing next Sunday? I need you to be my best man."

Scott gives him a blank look.

"You know, for my wedding," Stiles clarifies. "It's Sunday. We just decided."

"Dude," Scott says, frowning a little, his forehead wrinkling. "I'll be on my freaking _honeymoon_ , you asshole."

Stiles cringes. He'd forgotten about that.

"Can't you reschedule it?"

Scott gives him a glare worthy of Derek, a look so cold Stiles is surprised no one else in the room is shivering, and okay maybe that wasn't the best solution, but this is Stiles' wedding. If Scott's not gonna be his best man, there's something very seriously wrong with the world. And seeings as a normal, right world for Stiles includes werewolves, something being seriously wrong with the world is a big fucking deal.

He gives Scott his best pleading look because sure a cruise in the Mediterranean that they've been planning for months is great and all, but Stiles is pretty sure that being his best man is a little bit better.

Scott sighs and says, "Stiles," in his most serious voice, the I-am-angry-with-you voice that Stiles has hardly heard since high school, and Stiles throws up his arms, exasperated, and looks around for a second.

"Fine," Stiles says, spotting Boyd sitting at the table next to them. "Then I'll just ask Boyd to be my best man instead."

Boyd looks up when he hears his name, and rolls his eyes.

"I don't understand why you're still convinced we're friends, Stiles," he says, but there's at least  a little bit of fondness in his voice. Or, at least, Stiles chooses to hear it that way.

Danny's wandered over to them by now, half walking and half dancing along the music, and he slides his arms around Stiles' waist from behind him and kisses his cheek. "What's up?" he asks, tucking his chin over Stiles' shoulder.

"Scott hates me. All this hard work I did to make his wedding the best thing ever, and his bachelor party even awesomer, and he won't even agree to be my best man."

Danny and Scott exchange a glance, and Scott groans and says, "Don't do it, Danny, don't marry him. You're gonna regret it."

Danny shakes his head and laughs, the sort of fond, exasperated laugh that Stiles is used to hearing from him. "What's the problem?" he says.

"He's gonna be on his stupid honeymoon," Stiles pouts, glaring back at Scott and for a second it's like none of them ever grew up past high school. Maybe, Stiles thinks, there's something about living through supernatural life-or-death situations together that sort of freezes a group in place, like every time they get together they're going to be the same stupid kids no matter how much they've grown up since then. Honestly, he's not sure he minds it. It's nice.

"When do you and Allison get back?" Danny asks Scott.

"Wednesday," Scott says, and Danny says, "Stiles, do you think we can take a rain check until Thursday?"

"I like Sunday," Stiles says, and he knows he's being childish, knows this is totally stupid, but he's still pleasantly buzzed and already has his heart set on marrying Danny on a Sunday with that nice Sunday feeling in his chest and he's not going to let something as stupid as Scott's honeymoon stop him, even if it means he doesn't have a best man.

"What about the Sunday after, then?" Danny suggests, practical as always, and if it's possible Stiles falls a little more in love with him at that because Stiles isn't great at coming up with compromises but the second Danny says it it makes perfect sense, it seems like the perfect plan, and okay, maybe Stiles can wait an extra week.

Scott agrees, and Danny grabs a waiter with a tray of champagne and insists they celebrate.

  


"Jesus, Danny, I'm eating dinner, what do you want?"

Danny squints, turning up the brightness on his computer screen so he can see Jackson roll his eyes and put down a bowl.

"Dinner?" he asks, confused, and glances at the clock. Two forty in the morning, and Stiles fast asleep in the bed next to him. "What?"

Jackson says something in Mandarin that sounds vaguely like angry swearing and then sighs out, "It's like six o'clock here. Shouldn't you be asleep?"

Danny shrugs and says, "I dunno," because he probably should. His head's already starting to hurt and they have to check out of the hotel by eleven, not to mention Lydia's hosting a brunch for Scott and Allison before they set off for the honeymoon, but he wanted to get this out of the way now.

"Well, what do you want?"

"You to be my best man."

He doesn't mean it to be quite so blunt, but he's still buzzed, still saying things before he fully has time to process them, and at least it's out in the open now so the hard part is over.

Jackson sets his phone down on the table, or so Danny guesses from the way the video screen is now showing him a lovely image of the ceiling of the office Jackson uses when he's in Hong Kong, and it stays frozen there for a minute, more muffled Mandarin quietly in the background until Jackson picks the phone back up, beer now in hand.

"You're joking, right?" Jackson says, but his voice isn't honestly surprised. He says it like he knows he's supposed to say it, know he's not supposed to believe Danny, but like he saw this coming a mile away.

"Please, Jackson?"

Jackson sighs. "When's the wedding?"

"Sunday after next," Danny answers. “And you’re throwing my bachelor party.”

He can't help the smile that's spreading across his face, or the warm feeling in his chest, or the pleased sigh he lets out when he hangs up and slides back into bed next to Stiles, drunk and content and the happiest he's ever been.

Of course, he wakes up with his head on Stiles' chest and the worst hangover of his life, and grumbles, "am I in hell?" and Stiles just presses a lazy kiss to the top of his head and answers, "no, you're engaged."

  


"My mom's going to kill me," Danny groans four days before the Sunday they're scheduled to get married, as if he's just realized this. "She's going to find out and she's going to yell at me about not having a real ceremony or inviting anyone and then she's going to kill me."

"At least you'll die a married man?" Stiles provides, unhelpfully. It's Wednesday morning and neither of them has gotten up the energy to get out of bed and get ready for work yet.

Danny smacks him on the arm. "This is all your fault."

"My fault?"

"Yes, your fault. You're the one who-- Oh god," Danny says, realization spreading across his face. "My _grandmother's_ going to kill me. Or, more likely, you."

"Me? Your grandmother loves me. I'm sure she'll find it charming."

"She'll come at you with a kitchen knife and yell in Hawaiian."

Stiles laughs, pulling Danny onto his chest and kissing his forehead. Danny doesn't resist, he doesn't have the energy, and the feeling of Stiles arms around him reminds him just how much he wants to do this, even if his whole family never lets them live it down.

"Don't worry," Stiles says. "I'll come up with some great romantic story about how I took you out for dinner and hid the ring in the bottom of your creme brûlée while you were being serenaded by a barbershop quartet in suits."

"You're the worst," Danny mutters into his skin.

"I'm better than you give me credit for. My first thought was to make it a romantic story about how I took you back to the site of our first blowjob."

Danny smacks him again, a little harder this time, and then rolls over onto his back. “We’re gonna have to have a ceremony, at least,” he sighs, resigned.

“Are you kidding?” Stiles says. “We can’t plan a ceremony in four days.”

“Not now. But, at some point. Probably in Hawaii, with my whole family there, on the beach with lots of flowers and caterers and cake. God, my sister’s going to want to plan it.” He says it like a romantic destination wedding to Hawaii isn’t basically everyone’s dream wedding, and when Stiles looks over at him, he realizes that this clearly _isn’t_ Danny’s dream wedding. That maybe there’s a reason other than Danny’s slightly concerning love for champagne that Danny agreed to get married on a whim.

“We don’t have to,” Stiles says quietly, reaching out to run his thumb over Danny’s cheek.

“It’s fine,” Danny says, pushing himself up out of bed to get ready for work. “As long as we get the legal stuff out of the way with just us. I’m not cancelling Sunday for the world.”

 

 

Scott takes a red eye from LAX to Dulles and shows up Sunday morning in the same wrinkled suit he was wearing on the plane. Jackson buys a ticket to fly in from Hong Kong, whining about the important business meeting he has to cancel, and arrives in a brand new thousand dollar suit that makes Scott’s look like burlap. Stiles just smiles, hugs Scott when he opens the door, and says, “thanks, dude, I couldn’t do this without you,” before taking Danny’s hand, bouncing nervously, and leading them all out of the apartment.

Stiles barely remembers actually signing the marriage certificate, except that his hand is shaking so much Scott actually has to physically help him sign the paper. Mostly what he remembers is the fond, exasperated look on Danny’s face, the same one he fell in love with, the same one he gets to wake up to every morning and go to sleep to every night. And the kiss, when Scott nudges Danny in the ribs with his elbow and, already smiling in anticipation of his own joke, says, “You may now kiss the bride.”

Danny’s lips taste like sunshine, the way he’s beaming as he kisses Stiles, slow and soft, like they have all the time in the world, Which, Stiles reminds himself with a smile, his chest swelling with the feeling, they do.

Jackson drags them to some exclusive bar where he’s rented out a back room for the occasion and buys them the fanciest champagne money can buy, or at least something close, and a few hours later the four of them stumble out of the bar and head their separate ways — Jackson to a hotel, Scott to the airport so he can get back home in time for his shift the next morning, and Danny and Stiles to their home, _their home,_ which with the weight of the simple silver rings heavy and new on their fingers feels even a little bit more like home than it did before.

“Come on,” Danny says, his lips on Stiles’ ear as he pulls him towards the nearest cab, waving it down and trying not to trip over his own feet. “I believe we have a wedding night to attend.”

As Stiles follows him into the cab, already happily adjusting to his new life as Mr. Stiles Mahealani, he makes a mental note to send a thank you card to James-Jim-John (after asking Scott what the hell his actual name is first) and maybe, just for the hell of it, to invite him to the second wedding in Hawaii next spring.

 


End file.
